Loyalty
by babyrubysoho
Summary: Magatsu Taito has never been much of a one for subtlety and, much to Anotsu's dismay, goes rather overboard when making a little confession... mild violence and tying people up


First, the obligatory disclaimer: all characters belong to Hiroaki Samura, the lucky bugger, not to me, and sadly I'm not going to make any money off them even if I whore them out to all and sundry...

Oh, and this is set after vol 23, somewhere early in vol 24; there aren't any major spoilers, but just so you know.

So, there we go. I think some parts of this (plotless) story are rather ooc: I don't actually think that Magatsu would ever do what he does here, nor do I think that Anotsu would let him get away with it. But hey, it's not real!

**Loyalty**

An ache.

Anotsu Kagehisa awakes, and has no idea where he is, or what has woken him. For that matter, he can't remember going to sleep. Warily, with a sense of apprehension, he opens his eyes, and once he has done so his pale, aristocratic face sets coldly, while his mind races: What...the _hell_...is this?  
His narrow eyes flicker across a small room, dirt floor, rough walls, a high window with sparse leaves blocking any view but lit by the red light of either a sunrise or sunset. He looks down at himself once more, as if to check he hasn't made a mistake. He hasn't.

What anyone else would see, if they were looking, and Anotsu very much hopes they are not, is a tiny hut tucked into the base of a heavily wooded winter hillside. And in that single room they would see a kneeling figure: a cold, girlish, strikingly beautiful face atop a slender body, white skin naked and intersected with lines of dark rope that bind it in deceptively elegant curves.

Anotsu carefully keeps his features immobile: he doesn't know how he got here, or who might be watching him for a sign of weakness, but he just bets it has something to do with Habaki Kagimura. He tests the extent of his bonds and swears softly under his breath, trying to peer down his own back; he can't see much, but can feel that someone has tied his arms behind him from shoulder to wrist, elbows almost meeting in the small of his back, and that whoever did this has done it extremely well. Twisting round like that sends ominous darts of pain through his limbs, enough to tell him that he has been like this for quite a long time; turning back, he surveys the _shibari_ that he can see more closely: ropes around his ribcage and across his breastbone, ropes keeping his legs folded under him. His discarded kimono is spread beneath him, his own insignia uppermost, though whether it is supposed to give him confidence or mock him is anyone's guess.

So much for getting out of this.

It's several minutes before he hears any noise, although his finely tuned hearing is straining for it, his unmatchable senses on full alert. When he does catch something, though, he bites his lip to hide a grin of relief, because he recognises that step; it has followed him obligingly for the past ten years.

The black-clad form of Magatsu Taito appears from behind him, as welcome a sight, at this moment, as anything Anotsu has ever seen. The teenager pads around him barefooted, then comes to a standstill in front of him and raises an eyebrow.

"Well. Here's another fine mess we're in," he says calmly, and doesn't move.

"What _happened_, Magatsu?" demands Anotsu urgently, hoping that his companion isn't angling for a familiar or sarcastic exchange just now. "How did we get here? Who caught us? _Why am I still tied up when you're standing right in front of me?_"

The younger man pushes a hand through his intractably spiky hair, looking as though he wants to laugh; Anotsu himself is so far from amused that he couldn't touch it with a long pole. He narrows his eyes.

"Just tell me, please...What in the _hell_ is going on?"

Magatsu sighs oddly, but seems disinclined to offer anything further. To Anotsu's astonishment, he sits down some feet away; not in his usual comfortable sprawl but a pensive, cross-legged position. Even so, Anotsu feels himself beginning to lose his temper, something very rare for him, that has not happened since the night at Edo Castle, and that was a very mild incidence.

"Magatsu Taito -" he begins, in the tones of aggravated leadership that he seldom has to use on his most loyal follower because he has always been a friend as well.

"You really don't remember anything, do you?" interrupts the other _kenshi_, carefully, eyes not leaving his master's irate figure.

Anotsu takes a deep breath and puts his brain in order, as he's accustomed to it, and tries to ignore the pressingly disturbing factors of his immobility; what had they been doing before...this? He tries to think, but it's surprisingly hard under Magatsu's flat stare. Let's see...The last thing he remembers is walking, but that could have been any one of these days. With a start he recalls the bright flash of a _furisode_ sleeve, a note of colour in the winter woodland.

That's right. He had been striding along ahead of Magatsu, who as usual was complaining in a litany under his breath as he fought to keep up, in between their inconsequential chatter. Then around a bend in the path up ahead of them had come a young woman, a sedge hat covering her face. Her kimono was slightly too bright to be refined, Anotsu had thought: most likely a girl from the last village wearing what she thought was the height of sophistication, a little bit of a coquette at that; ah, yes, the hat tilted as she passed them and a pretty, assertive, coarse face peeked out to appraise them before she moved on.

Anotsu had turned to look after her for a moment, marvelling at how brave and foolhardy some girls could be, to walk alone in these troubled times; for a brief second he thought of Asano Rin, and his mouth curled in an amused, rueful little smile. He blinked, and realised he had stopped walking, and that Magatsu had caught him up. The younger _kenshi_ had been giving him a look, somehow sharp for Magatsu, and then had stopped and stared at the girl as she trotted out of sight, his tanned cheeks glowing pink, though Anotsu couldn't tell whether it was from exertion or something else.

"Magatsu." He'd had to say his name twice before the other man noticed, and by that time Anotsu was walking away, irritated at the hold up and at his friend's lack of focus. When Magatsu caught him again, the _Itt__ō__-ry__ū_ leader had scowled and hit him lightly on the chest.

"How about you keep your mind on the road, Magatsu?" Anotsu had scolded, teasing, as was their way, but half annoyed. "If you're as horny as all that you can just go out in disguise tonight and bang some _yotaka_; but we've got a long way to go yet."

Magatsu's lips had thinned at that; he hadn't replied, though he flushed red again. They had continued and Anotsu had soon forgotten the whole incident, although now he thinks about it the younger man had been uncharacteristically quiet all that afternoon.

The sun wasn't close to setting when they stopped, but they had found a useful hollow where a fire would go unnoticed, and Magatsu was complaining that his stomach was eating itself. Anotsu had let the younger man boil water and some kind of barley-based concoction infused with woodland plants.

"Eat, _danna_," Magatsu had said, holding out the bowl.

And that was all. Until the moment he had woken up, everything was a blank void.

Anotsu blinks. He is not stupid; he knows, in fact, that he is one of the most intelligent people of his acquaintance, but he is really struggling with this one.

"Is there something you need to explain to me?" he asks Magatsu quietly. The other man has kept silent, patiently waiting for him to finish his flashback. Now Magatsu, who is at this moment somewhat pale beneath his dark skin, leans forward.

"I think you should know, _danna_," he begins, without the frequent nagging-wife-like inflection on the title that no-one uses for Anotsu but him, "that I'm not gonna change because of this. I'm loyal to you for the rest of my life: whatever you want me to be, whatever you want me to do, you just got to ask."

Anotsu furrows his eyebrows at this. Magatsu is not usually given to vocal demonstrations of loyalty; he only gives them when he feels he needs to, and then in an embarrassed grumble. This sounds...different.

"Magatsu," the _Itt__ō__-ry__ū_ leader says in a low voice, a strange pang of foreboding infiltrating his perplexity, "...did you do this to me?" The younger man looks away, and Anotsu has his answer. He can't think what to say. He feels that he ought to be giving his follower a sharp dressing-down at this moment, but the situation is too strange: Magatsu tends to be impulsive, he knows this, but not to the point of hurting him; and his bound limbs are in _pain_.

His pale face immediately shuts down into the beautiful, so frequently deadly mask that he can raise at will to hide his thoughts, his fear. He uses it quite often, but has only had to do it with Magatsu once: the day he made his mistake, when he agreed to side with the _Bakufu_ and when, inevitably, Magatsu left him. He had been more hurt by that than he liked to let on, though of course Magatsu had turned out to be right, and more glad to see him again in Kaga, although being on his last legs and bleeding at the time had made the need to conceal his feelings somewhat superfluous. He regrets having to use it now, but something like this has never happened before.

He searches for a probing question, and can only think of the most simple.

"_Why?_" he demands. Magatsu looks back at him, and Anotsu senses he won't be getting a satisfactory answer in a few words: the man's unmasked face, usually so open and amiable, is a complex map of concealed emotion, the kind Anotsu has never been any good at reading.

"I want to know!" he presses, a threatened little snarl suddenly tugging at the corners of his delicate mouth. He doesn't know where it came from, but he doesn't ignore his own intuition. This is not going to be simple, or safe.

"Then let me beg another question," Anotsu continues acidly, glancing down quickly at his white skin with its intersections of dark rope. "_Why _am I naked?"

Magatsu shrugs ambivalently, and the _Itt__ō__-ry__ū_ leader feels his smooth cheeks flush with anger.

"If it's intended to make me feel stupid, it won't work," he states flatly, though he is generally an unusually private person when it comes to his own body.

"Stupid!" Magatsu exclaims, and shakes his head. "There's somethin' I need to talk to you about, is all."

"And...you can only do it like this," Anotsu states, sarcasm rising, though it's hardly appropriate at this point. Magatsu, to his surprise, nods briefly, and stands up. The kneeling man notices that his unconventional sword is still hanging comfortably from his _obi_, which means that Magatsu is not feeling very safe at this moment, either. The young _kenshi_ takes a deep breath, almost meditative, steeling himself for a difficult confrontation; as if stripping and tying up his master wasn't difficult enough.

Anotsu, watching him warily, sees a layer of unhappiness, covered by what looks like resignation, and other, more complicated things moving beneath Magatsu's expression. He suddenly strides forward, and Anotsu flinches intuitively; but his friend passes right by without touching him, circling behind him, as though he can't talk while his master's eyes are on him.

"Are you listening, _danna_?" asks Magatsu, out of sight. Not being able to see his face means that Anotsu's strained attention is now on his voice, and the sound of that voice sends a ripple of unease up his spine: it's as though it's coming from far away, not physically, but in its tone; Magatsu sounds detached, as if he is deliberately distancing himself from something that must be done, but that he doesn't want to get too close to. And Anotsu knows with complete certainty that whatever is going to be done will be done to _him_. The nerves on his back fire up, waiting for contact; he can almost sense where Magatsu is by the air alone. Silence draws out for a horribly long time before he hears another soft step.

"I'm quite proud of this one, actually," Magatsu confides detachedly; Anotsu can feel the young man's dark eyes roving over his back. "Looks kinda artistic."

"I wouldn't know," replies Anotsu witheringly, quite willing now to put off whatever Magatsu has to say, because he can tell it will bring more discomfort. "Who taught you these knots?"

"Baro," comes the studiedly casual voice again, and Anotsu grimaces to himself. They would be good. Another step, closer, and the fine hair on the back of his neck stands up.

"Don't you touch me, Magatsu Taito, unless you're planning to untie me," Anotsu snaps. Somewhat to his surprise the other man doesn't, but he can feel the uneven tremors in the air as Magatsu kneels down behind him, ripples of misery running from the young _kenshi_ to his own skin.

"Once we've had this discussion," Magatsu tells him, still in that calm, distant voice. Anotsu wriggles impatiently, but the knots are intricate and tight and the movement does nothing but chafe his fair skin.

"Don't you think this has gone far enough?"

"Nah." Magatsu sounds rueful now, as if he might be regretting it, though not enough to actually stop. "It's gone _too_ far already. That's why I gotta finish it."

"If you've got some problem with what we've been doing," Anotsu sighs, "we could have talked about it while we were walking."

"It's not that," the voice behind him states. "You know I'd follow you anywhere."

"Then what?!" Anotsu exclaims, more than irritated now; he _knows_ Magatsu understands their priorities, has always appreciated that he never has to justify himself or his plans. "What else is there? This is _it_, Magatsu, this is all that matters: us against the _Bakufu_. Is that the problem?" he continues, slightly mollified. "That I don't see a future any more?" He turns his head and tries to see his follower, seeking confirmation from his expression; but Magatsu is invisible, in his blind spot. "There's no way out of this for us now," Anotsu apologises coolly, thoughts drifting off to Mito and Kagimura.

"Oh, tell it to someone who doesn't know!" cuts in Magatsu, losing the cold edge to his voice and replacing it with an aggrieved one that Anotsu finds even more troubling because as a rule he tries to have nothing to do with passion. Before he can answer such a specious exclamation, however, he feels a sharp pressure on his bound arms that makes him cry out softly in pain and surprise: Magatsu has grabbed the ropes and is dragging them backwards, forcing his arms away from his body the wrong way until his joints protest. It lasts only a second before the youth lets him go, but is enough to shake his composure, which he has so carefully clung to and distilled since waking up and realising what has happened to him.

"I _know_ you, _danna_," Magatsu says hotly, getting to his feet and stalking back to face him again, breathing hard through his nose as though the contact with his master has thrown him. "I know what's important to you better than anyone else!"

"Then why -"

"I know what you _feel_," he continues, ignoring Anotsu's exasperated interjection, "as far as you have any damn feelings at all."

"Excuse me," Anotsu cuts in coldly, wondering if he's hearing right, "are you saying Magatsu Taito tied me up here and is wasting hours of our time so he can talk about _feelings_?"

Magatsu curls his lip at the blank expression on that cool face and speaks up spitefully.  
"Why not? If you have any limits, _danna_, it's that you don't have a _clue_ what people are feeling, and even if you did, you wouldn't think it was important! And one day that's gonna get you into a worse mess than the one you're in now!"

"I know people have feelings," says Anotsu quietly, trying to work out where his _kenshi _is going with this, not understanding the volatile compound of anger and frustration on the flushed unmasked face.

"Do you!" Magatsu exclaims loudly, in a way that is pushing sarcastic, in Anotsu's opinion. He begins to walk, pacing an irregular, distracted line back and forth in front of the kneeling man. "So, the people whose lives you weigh on, you understand them, you appreciate them? The Asano girl, a damn _samurai_, but the woman knows how to feel, I'll give her that! And that poor idiot you married as a bargain, I never even met her but I'll bet I know more about what she felt than _you_."

Anotsu watches his friend pace and furrows his slender brows, reaching for some point of connection where he might have a flash of insight or understanding; it seems to him that Magatsu is rambling.

"Or Makie," Magatsu continues with a peculiar grimace that Anotsu has noticed on his face before when he talks about the swordswoman but has never known how to interpret, and still doesn't. "Have you ever -"

"_Don't_ talk to me about my cousin," Anotsu interrupts, on firmer ground here. "I know what she feels."

"Only because she keeps throwing it in your face!" replies Magatsu instantly, almost shouting. "And even then, what have you done about it?" His demand has a strange, almost accusing inflection.

"Done?" Anotsu repeats. The other man's patchy tread is beginning to grate on his nerves. "I haven't done anything. What would I do it for?"

Magatsu makes a despairing little noise, almost a laugh, and stops his incessant pacing.

"Then what about me?" he asks quietly. "Have you ever thought that I feel things, as well as her?"

"No," says Anotsu neutrally, truthfully.

"No, you wouldn't," Magatsu murmurs reflectively, two patches of sharp red on his high cheekbones, volume rising as he continues to speak. "Why is it? Because I'm a guy, because I'm young, because I never talk about it, I just follow you, so what I feel means less than _nothing_!"

Anotsu is silent; those words are barbed, worse than the pain in his constricted limbs, but the significance of it is still escaping him; he gropes desperately for it, aware that something in his lack of understanding is tearing his friend apart.

"You know why I wear this mask?" Magatsu suddenly asks, apropos of nothing, apparently, tugging at the black cloth that usually covers his face. Anotsu shrugs, then winces at the sharp pins of pain that ripple across his shoulders.

"It's because people say I give myself away too easily," Magatsu explains. "That my face can't hide what needs to be hidden. Look at me, _danna_," he orders, stepping closer. Anotsu stares into the familiar face, the earnest, furious black eyes and the ambiguous flush under tanned skin.

"Do you even see me?" The demand, almost a plea, makes Anotsu narrow his eyes further in perplexity. Of course he does, but _what_ he's supposed to be seeing is a mystery. And he's getting tired of this game. He sighs.

"You can stop, Magatsu. I already _know_ what you feel," he lies smoothly, hoping it's the right thing to say, to pacify the younger man and bring an end to this.

Magatsu stiffens, his expression freezing, and the _Itt__ō__-ry__ū_ leader experiences a warning dart of approaching danger, something he _is_ very good at discerning.

"...You knew?" asks Magatsu, very softly, the colour leaving his face, and suddenly Anotsu feels, for the first time, hazardously out of his depth. He doesn't say anything, doesn't even nod, but somehow Magatsu takes this as an affirmative anyway. In an instant, during which Anotsu remembers just how quick his friend is, with a click the slim second blade of his sword is out and pointed unwaveringly at his master's throat.

Anotsu swallows, very carefully. His eyes travel from the tip of the steel, over Magatsu's white-knuckled hand, up his body until they reach his face, where they see pure, unadulterated hurt. He doesn't know what to do with that, so he puts it aside as he always does, and finds himself in familiar territory; a man pointing a sword at him is nothing he hasn't faced a thousand times before, and obscurely he feels safer. He glares up steadily.

"_Danna_..." Magatsu abruptly drops to his knees in front of Anotsu, blade still raised, and the bound man's composure is jolted once more: now that they are in close proximity Magatsu's hand is no longer steady; the slim sword moves towards his chest, trembling so that it occasionally brushes his skin. Anotsu finds himself holding his breath, eyes fixed on the tip of the weapon, bright steel that has hitherto only existed to protect him. As it touches his ribcage he gasps, the sudden rush of oxygen and adrenaline giddying him; when he blinks and looks up, he sees that Magatsu's dark eyes are damp, something quite unprecedented in Anotsu's experience.

As if he doesn't want it to be seen, Magatsu leans in closer; he's a good deal taller than Anotsu, who loses sight of him as his jaw presses against Anotsu's pale temple. His breath is coming in shudders, stirring his master's long hair, and with an awful thrill of shock the smaller man gets an inkling of what is inside his follower's heart, though he can't quite bring himself to believe what he's thinking.

Anotsu badly wants to lean away at this point, because if he's right, which he isn't at all sure about, then all the rational explanation and cold calculation in the world will not be enough to calm the trembling young man who is close enough to embrace him. He hears the hitch in his own breath, and knows that he ought to say something, because while Magatsu _can_ be cool and deadly at the same time, he's not exactly known for his restraint.

"Taito..." he whispers, and is displeased by the waver in his own voice, and the distress. But for Magatsu the reaction is even stronger: he hisses in a breath and flinches at the sound of his real name, and in that moment of discomposure Anotsu feels the blade score an unintentional line of light, piercing pain down the side of his flat stomach. He bites his lip, holding in what might be a curse but feels dangerously to him like a sob.

"Shit!" Magatsu jerks away, staring wide-eyed at the thin trickle of red on his master's pale flesh; it has only just broken the skin, and anyone could see it was slight, but the sight is enough for him to fling the sword aside convulsively, adding a note of dismay to his already crowded expression. He stares down at his own hand as if it didn't belong to him, chest heaving.

Anotsu blocks out the sting with ease, aided by practice and his own consternation, and kneels up straighter, though he still can't get level with the other man's eyes. So Magatsu didn't actually intend to hurt him; normally he would take this as a given, as one of life's basic facts, but for a moment there he wasn't sure. This could go on forever, he senses, if they don't get to the root of it, and he doesn't think his limbs or his head can take it.

"If you could just clarify, Magatsu," he says, as levelly as he can manage, abandoning all pretence of understanding his follower after all, "what _exactly_ is it you're trying to make me see?"

Magatsu bites his lip, looking very young. He spends a few moments in silence, and Anotsu thinks maybe he's trying to work out how to admit...whatever it is without actually saying it. But the consideration seems only to make him angry again; he gives his master a furious, passionate look and a gesture of futility, grappling with metaphors that are unfamiliar to him.

"You...You're like a..." He waves his hands about, searching for words. "You're like a _koi_ under ice, _danna_," he states bitterly, and now that he has started the accusations flow easily; Anotsu can feel the irate heat of his body and wonders why it burns. "There you are, shining, so fucking _beautiful_," Magatsu spits, "and people try and touch you, but when they do all they get is frostbite because you are so damn _cold_, and here I am, spending my life protecting that perfect silver skin, that ice...!" He takes a deep breath, jaw clenched, "when all I wanna do is _smash_ it!"

Anotsu twitches as Magatsu smacks a fist into his palm as if to illustrate his desires. Then he looks up stonily at the enraged, almost weeping _kenshi_, though inside his heart is sinking because he finally begins to understand what it is Magatsu thinks he wants. What can he possibly say, he wonders, that won't hurt him right now?

Gaze still locked on him accusingly, Magatsu reaches out, unable to help himself when his master's face is inches from him, so pale and still and lovely. Anotsu doesn't think that he can stand to be touched at this moment, and speaks up hurriedly before the familiarly callused hand meets his own smooth skin.

"Ok. I understand!" He tries to sound reasonable, and as the words come out of his mouth he knows that he's failed. "I _see you_, Magatsu Taito." The other man's face takes on the awful glow of hope rising, and he can't bear to look at it. He continues hurriedly. "But what do you expect me to _do _about it?"

Magatsu looks as though he hadn't anticipated that one, and pauses, considering all the connotations of what his master could mean. Anotsu sees that he has settled on the most pessimistic interpretation, which was in fact the one that he intended. Magatsu runs a hand through his untameable hair, the same hand that would have touched the older man. He gives a sad little smile that isn't really a smile at all.

"You don't have to do anything, _danna_," he says, and Anotsu feels the skin prickle on the back of his neck. "But _I'm_ going to."

And without another word his arm slips behind Anotsu's back and he draws the slender man closer, kissing him full on the mouth, deep and soft and sweet, and in that kiss Anotsu wildly reads pain, utter devotion and, to his horror, something like love. As the brief seconds stretch out Anotsu stares wide-eyed and unfocused at Magatsu's ear and the beams of the roof, which are all he can see, and finds himself mortally offended. Isn't it presumption? he wonders bitterly. He has never _asked_ for such a deep attachment, and beneath the fire in his cheeks and Magatsu's hot, uncomfortable kiss, he finds the cold lake of resentment and clings to it.

Magatsu, as if stung by the frozen stillness, abruptly pulls away, and evidently reads all he needs to in the chilly, hateful beauty of Anotsu's face. His expression, clear after that longed-for touch to the point of wonder, contorts bitterly with the realisation and turns ugly, and before Anotsu can even open his mouth Magatsu hits him, an open-handed slap that rocks his head to the side.

"Anotsu, I -" Magatsu begins contritely, but the bound man cuts him off, the slap having done wonders for his perspective, bringing him back to himself after the bewildering racing of his heart even amid his shock.

"Kiss me like that again, Magatsu Taito," Anotsu warns, in control of himself for the moment and words dripping poison, "and you will find yourself without a tongue."

Magatsu doesn't look at him now, but turns his head to the side as if weighing something up or having an internal argument with himself. He takes a long, shuddering breath, and when he exhales it's calm and resigned.

"All right, _danna_," he acknowledges, and his voice has taken on that distant tone again that Anotsu heard after he woke and that makes his skin tighten nastily. "I won't kiss you like that." But his hand rises, slowly; Anotsu wonders if Magatsu will hit him again and supposes he can bear it if it makes him feel better and _stops_ this. The sleeve of Magatsu's black kimono slips back, revealing the tense muscles of his forearm as he fights to keep his hand steady; then his skin meets Anotsu's, and the _Itt__ō__-ry__ū_ leader winces in surprise and finds himself baring his teeth as the backs of Magatsu's fingers trail softly over his temple, down his cheek, along his fine jaw. The younger man's breath is catching in his throat, his black eyes full of feeling, as his hand, shaking slightly now, slides down Anotsu's pale, slender neck and along the smooth planes of his chest.

"Magatsu." Anotsu shudders at the touch, so unwelcome and reverent, and finds he can't speak above a whisper. "Don't..."

Magatsu's eyes meet his for a fraction of a second, and they burn.

"Please don't do this," he repeats more urgently, a soft exhalation of breath escaping him as his follower's fingers brush over his left nipple, repeating the action at the sound and sending the blood to his face. Magatsu's right arm encircles his back loosely, drawing him forward, and now Anotsu can feel the tremors that rock the young _kenshi_'s whole frame as his hands move tentatively, worshipfully; when he looks down he sees how dark they are against his own pale skin, and a sharp pang of misery cuts him, mingling with the strange little darts of heat that Magatsu's fingers are sending to his stomach. No, Anotsu does not like this at all.

"I love you, _danna_," is Magatsu's only answer to his plea, speaking simply into his ear as if it hadn't taken a doped meal, thirty feet of rope and several hours to make his master aware of this fact. He holds Anotsu's chin firmly in one hand to stop him turning his head, kissing the smaller man's neck softly, just below his ear; evidently he has taken Anotsu's venomous threat to heart. His other hand is still moving over his master's flesh, along his left hipbone and down to circle his navel with careful fingertips that still shake as if he can't really believe what he's doing.

"Is there anything I can say," asks Anotsu, finding his voice oddly tremulous and hating it, "...that will make you stop?" He's starting to feel the faint edge of panic, something he remembers vaguely from when he was a child but has not experienced for many years; Magatsu's breath is very warm in his ear, and for a moment the _kenshi_'s body presses closely against him, heating his bare skin in the same way that his fingers are doing. Anotsu feels sick, though he believes it is directed mostly at himself.

"No, _danna_," Magatsu whispers regretfully, kissing his throat again; the coarse spikes of his black hair tickle Anotsu's chin, and both his long-fingered hands, so skilled with and without a weapon, it seems, slide covetously down his narrow waist and over his belly to touch him more intimately. His mouth moves to Anotsu's shoulder, to the single scar that speaks of his master's mistakes in Kaga.

Anotsu grits his teeth and stifles a whimper as his friend's hands caress him, slipping between his bound legs gingerly. He shuts his eyes against the despised prickle of tears but that only makes the sensations stronger, more appalling, Magatsu's eager fingers, his lips, the brush of his rough hair, the silk of his kimono. He can't remember the last time he was touched like this, or if he ever has been, with such ardor, with such reverence. He has always been in a position to dictate exactly what he wants, but now, with Magatsu paying attention to his voice only in order to determine how most effectively to torment him, he's helpless to ask for anything except the futile _stop_.

After a while he loses all concept of time, his tense, pained muscles having no choice but to relax, and he might have been there forever, nothing existing but his own unfortunate body and Magatsu's. He turns his head away bleakly from his friend's loving touch, but cannot help responding physically to the endless impassioned caresses; Magatsu seems determined to learn every inch of his flesh a hundred times over and Anotsu remembers, through the unwelcome haze of sensation, that the young man always did like to do a job to the letter of thoroughness. For a second he wishes that Magatsu would just fuck him and get it over with, no matter how degrading; surely anything would be better than this slow, agonising pleasure.

He clings to his outrage, at this violation and what Magatsu is needlessly spoiling between them, but that only makes it worse: with his mind locked in the cold box of disbelief, everything seems far away, almost outside, and with a start he notices that he is weeping despite himself. Holding his mind separate like this he can consider things logically, but when he tries to do so he finds himself nauseated, shocked by the sound of his own ragged breathing, the way Magatsu has parted his legs with barely any resistance. No, his body is in a bad way right now, and it needs his mind working with it; for what might be the first time ever, he realises, cold dispassion is not going to work.

When his intellect is fully united with his flesh again it seems even harder: the full force of sensation hits him like a blow and he cries out quietly. Magatsu, whose mouth is trailing scandalously down his breastbone between the ropes, raises his head in surprise. He shoots a wry glance at his captive's horrified, aroused face, at the narrow eyes half closed and smooth white skin flushed; then returns to caressing what he has yearned so long to have. His tongue flicks over a pale nipple, and Anotsu gasps, then makes a little noise of serious distress as Magatsu's fingers reach further between his thighs and part him gently, slipping carefully just inside him. His free hand presses possessively against the smaller man's lower back, preventing him from trying to move away.

"If you don't let me go, _now_," comes Anotsu's voice, finally echoing the feelings of misery and fervour that Magatsu has felt all this time, "I will hate you forever, Magatsu Taito."

"No you won't," Magatsu replies after a minute, distant again and distracted as he touches his master more forcefully and Anotsu arches his back involuntarily, pressing up against him with a hiss of discomfort. "Because you've got such a limited capacity for emotion, as I _think_ I already explained to you, right?" He kisses Anotsu's finely made clavicle and bites down lightly on the fair skin, catching the repressed moan before the smaller man speaks again.

"But I...can _hate_ very well," Anotsu reminds him between uneven breaths, forehead leaning unwillingly against his shoulder as exhaustion and the pain in his arms increase. "Otherwise we would not be here at all, for you to _do_ this to me." His voice cracks in a low sob.

"True." Magatsu settles himself more comfortably, kneeling between Anotsu's slim thighs and running a hand soothingly over his back beneath his bound limbs. "As far as feelings go, hate is certainly what you do best." He kisses his jaw, which clenches under his touch, and he can taste sweat and tears and uncertainty. "But remember, yours is all caught up with the _Bakufu_ already. Now me, I can hate a lot of things, including you, _danna_, sometimes, and I still got no problem loving you more than anything else I ever laid eyes on. But you...you just haven't got _room_."

Anotsu cries quietly as Magatsu's fingers press deeper and stroke him faster, and finds the tears a surprisingly pleasant release from many things: from responsibility, from the cold, from the terrible, now impossible pressure of trying to look strong in the face of all this. The younger man, not looking particularly stable himself, murmurs comfortingly to him, words that he doesn't catch at all as Magatsu's mouth moves over his hair, his cheek, his neck. He thinks he might die from the pleasure, or maybe it's from shame, as Magatsu cruelly slows his touches and he has to bite back a whimper of frustration.

"If you loved me, you wouldn't do this," he mutters hoarsely in a final attempt to stop his besotted _kenshi_, to stop himself, although in all honesty he has no idea about what love makes people do; but surely this anger, this forced desire isn't right.

"Yeah, I thought so, too," confesses Magatsu hopelessly, his short thumbnail digging into Anotsu's small nipple and making him squirm, taut stomach slick with sweat, painfully hard in Magatsu's grip. "But I do."

The young man's cheek is pressed against his, with as much affection as carnal intimacy, and Anotsu dimly realises that he has two choices. He's bound to the point of agony, but he still has a mouth free with two even rows of sharp little white teeth that can maybe inflict enough pain to wake his follower up, turn his desire into plain violence, which Anotsu would take over this in a heartbeat. He can either fight this in earnest, then...or he cannot.

Magatsu squeezes his arousal gently, sending a ripple of heat up his spine, and even as he draws his head back he doesn't know which he will choose. But Magatsu's face, when he catches sight of it, is so earnest, so miserable, so dreamy with adoration that the choice is made for him: by the next beat of his heart his lips have caught Magatsu's, forgetting entirely his former threat at the feeling. He curses himself roundly but finds himself dizzied as his friend gets over his momentary shock and kisses him back with unpractised, uncalculated need, tongue pressing between his lips to taste him. Anotsu feels the upsurge of desire as Magatsu's kiss becomes rougher, thoughtless, and he wonders how this odd act can be accompanied by so much pleasure; maybe it has something to do with the taller man's hands, the mixture of provocation and pain they are currently inciting even as the kiss becomes more intimate.

"Hate away then, _danna_," Magatsu whispers unsteadily as Anotsu's mouth leaves his to take a swift, harsh breath. "If this is your hate, then I think I can bear it."

Anotsu kisses him again, not skilfully, because the hands between his legs and sliding down his back are too intense.

"...I don't hate you," he admits, dragging in another gulp of air as Magatsu's lips move to his throat, and pressing up against the younger man to feel the delicious friction on his skin, trying not to think about how he's acting because it makes him feel dirty. "I just hate what you're doing."

"...Shall I stop?" asks Magatsu suddenly, unexpectedly, removing his hands with an effort but not his mouth, as if he wants to read the answer through the shudder of his master's skin. There is a long pause, then,

"_Fuck_ you, Magatsu," Anotsu swears furiously, round face streaked with tears and eyes gleaming with rage. "You could have said that before now, couldn't you?! When I was _begging_ you to let me go!" He snarls at the guilty, zealous expression on his follower's young face. If he had offered those words thirty seconds ago, he might have forgiven him, might have forgotten that his body was burning for this, through no fault of its own. But the imprint of Magatsu's touch, he thinks despairingly, will stain him forever.

"Then stop," he says quietly, through his rapid breathing. He draws away from that treacherous warmth, feels the cold air on his damp, thrilled flesh. Magatsu is staring at him as though the words have come as a shock, as if this is some kind of betrayal, and Anotsu wants to laugh ironically but wisely doesn't.

"You just kissed me," accuses Magatsu, face still flushed with desire, "and _now_ you want me to let you go?!"

For a long moment they glare at one another, both disbelieving, both disgusted and breathing unsteadily. Anotsu makes a conscious effort to look non-threatening.

"Please," he says softly, and the hurt calm of his voice makes the other man swallow hard. "You have to untie me, now."

"...And then?" asks Magatsu faintly, helplessly. Anotsu doesn't say anything, just stares ahead, and the taller man gives a forlorn laugh that changes halfway into a sob through gritted teeth. Magatsu nods jerkily, but doesn't move for the ropes, and the _Itt__ō__-ry__ū_ leader finds himself caught up in an embrace so tight he can barely breathe; Magatsu is clinging to him as if they will never see each other again, his arms a perfect incongruity of threat and protection, his face buried in his master's naked shoulder. Anotsu submits easily to being held, wondering why people allow themselves to love if it causes such anguish, until the constricting hug sets his arms buzzing with pain, until it's too much.

"Magatsu."

With a grimace Magatsu tears himself away, kneeling once more behind his _danna_. Anotsu feels each knot, each coil of rope come undone so slowly that it's almost sensual in itself; or at least it would be if it hadn't turned out that his limbs have in fact been numb, and what he thought was pain was actually a pathetic forerunner to the waves of agony that hit him as the blood flows back to his arms. Teeth gritted, he lets out a low groan but doesn't try to fight it, knowing that will make it worse; he accepts it instead, gets lost in it.

As his balance shifts he realises those overtasked limbs will not support him; but two strong hands catch him before he falls flat on the floor, as they would have done before any of this started. Anotsu fervently wishes it never had, as Magatsu's fingers rub life briskly back into his arms, wishes he could feel the simple reassurance of Magatsu's constant support again, but knows he cannot because the touch of those hands kindles him now instead. He forces compliance on his disobedient limbs and then lets them be still. He doesn't try to stand, although he imagines he could if he brought his considerable will to bear.

"What're you doing?" asks Magatsu from behind him, deep unhappiness mixing with surprise in his voice. Anotsu wriggles his toes and winces, not looking back.

"Trying to work out whether or not to hurt you," he says coldly. He knows Magatsu would let him, too.

"If you like," comes the miserable voice, which Anotsu thinks is intensely unjustified, given the circumstances.

"Stop feeling sorry for yourself," he orders dully, "I'm not going to. I just...don't care."

Magatsu doesn't say anything to that, which is probably sensible. The younger man tugs the edge of the turquoise kimono out from beneath Anotsu's freed legs, and solicitously drapes it over his shoulders, hiding the rope burns that his master inflicted on himself with his struggling. He is biting his lip so hard it bleeds.

Anotsu, for some reason, finds this hypocritically caring act extremely, even hysterically funny, and begins to laugh to himself, narrow shoulders shaking, on and on in a way that has nothing to do with humour, which he has never had much of a sense of anyway. He thinks, as it drags out, that maybe he won't be able to stop, though it sounds ugly to his ears; but over the laughter he hears Magatsu get to his feet; he twists round to see the back of the room for the first time. Magatsu bends to retrieve the sword he had flung away and slides it into its sheath with a gesture of disgust. Anotsu stops laughing. He sees his friend pause, close his eyes for a long moment, then stride towards the low door with a finality that makes Anotsu's breath stop.

"You!" he snaps viciously as Magatsu's hand reaches for the latch. "Where do you think you're going?" He leans forward, narrow, reddened eyes glittering, and Magatsu turns to stare at him, shocked. "I'm not _nearly_ finished with you yet!"

The look Magatsu gives him then is a picture, incredulity, adoration, resentment all combined in one face that isn't designed to feel so much or so deeply. His lips press together until they're white and he remains where he is, looking faintly sick as if he would like nothing better than to run. Anotsu meets his gaze, raising his chin and staring at him with the cool fury of a leader rather than a victim's glance. He wonders how Magatsu will choose, and then why he is proposing such a choice in the first place.

In the end old habits win out: Magatsu's shoulders sag, as though this choice comes with too heavy a burden of guilt; but he returns to his master's side as he has always done eventually, kneeling in front of the pale _kenshi _with both sincerity and unwillingness.

"All right, _danna_," he says in a low voice, a world of affection and loathing loading the honorific. "You got me. I'm your fucking _dog_; I can't leave you. So what do you want?"

The two of them stare at one another bitterly. Anotsu doesn't know what he can possibly do to express it, how Magatsu has damaged them, doesn't know how they can ever have a meeting of minds again, but he can think of something to get the process under way.

"_This_ is for starters," he hisses at Magatsu, and hits him, pleased to discover that his arm is working again: his deceptive strength knocks the taller man to the floor, the blow standing for every second he wanted to hurt him that night and couldn't. Magatsu coughs, and spits out blood, looking dazed: he has bitten his tongue. Anotsu rubs his aching knuckles. He feels slightly better.

*******

And that's where this chapter ends. The rest of the story is too explicit for this site, I believe, but if you want to read the rest of the jolly, plotless nookie (which is a lot more chipper than this section!), you can find it on my livejournal:

babyrubysoho. livejournal. com (proper link is on my profile page)

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it so far!


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